Chapter 7

Chapter 7

‘They can say whatever they want about me.’

It was all for efficiency. Yes, maybe it was even an obsession with privacy.

How many women had claimed to be carrying his child so far?

The secretary said, “It’s easy to for people to pretend to be you and scam others when you don’t show your face.” But James didn’t agree; he felt that if he did show his face, the chaos would be even worse.

Besides,

‘How it is now is perfect.’

James sought a relationship that maintained proper boundaries, where both parties enjoyed themselves without emotional baggage—a mutually agreed business-like arrangement.

Like the woman before him.

Pleasure each other just enough, exchange only the necessary information, and remain detached. Isn’t a straightforward ‘friend’ the best?

So there was even less reason for James to reveal his true identity.

“By the way, if I can guess your ‘name of the day,’ will you sleep with me?”

“Is that the rumor going around these days?”

“Look at my face when you talk to me, Jerome.”

The woman lightly kissed him on the temple to get his attention, but his gaze didn’t move toward her. She tried again:

“…Since when have you been interested in spiritualism?”

“I’m not. It’s all fake.”

There was no useful information from her today, this was a pointless exercise.

“You say you’re not, but you keep looking that way.”

“…”

“Hm, Jerome’s type is platinum blonde, huh?”

She teased with a mischievous smile; James furrowed his brows.

“…It’s because she looks familiar.”

“Well, Countess Chester always invites Miss Blavatsky to her parties. So it’s natural you feel that way.”

“No, not that sort offamiliarity.”

“Then?”

“I saw someone who felt similar.”

The more he thought about it, the more the woman he bumped into in front of Fellows branch seemed alike.

Whether she resembled Miss Blavatsky or vice versa, he wasn’t sure.

Well, it was just a similarity that caught his eye. Nothing more.

James watched as Countess Chester laughed heartily while grabbing Miss Blavatsky’s hand, then turned his body to gaze at the night view.

As soon as he turned away, the woman eagerly ran her hand over his chest in a bold manner.

“I’m not in the mood today,” he told her bluntly.

“You never go all the way with me anyway.”

“Well, you have to want to go all the way with someone for it to actually happen.”

With a bored sigh, the woman shot him a glare and left.

Alone, James finished the whiskey remaining in his glass and resolved not to attend the Countess’s parties anymore.

He could have left immediately, but since he liked the whiskey the Countess had prepared today, he decided to stay a little longer.

As he admired the night view and sipped his drink,

“Um, Mr. Jack Dillon?”

He turned his head at the slightly trembling voice calling his name. There stood Olga Blavatsky in a dark navy dress that covered her modestly from head to toe, platinum blonde waves cascading elegantly.

Her face was flushed red, clutching a champagne glass like a precious treasure.

As soon as the spiritualism show ended, voices grabbed Rose’s attention, cutting through the loud party music inside.

“Miss Olga Blavatsky! You were amazing tonight!”

Maria Chester, the Countess hosting the party, smiled brightly and approached Rose.

The party-loving Countess Chester was a notable figure who controlled the social scene in the capital, Romberton.

The parties she held for trivial reasons were always bustling, and Rose also attended—not as a guest, but as the spiritualist summoned to entertain.

“Thank you for inviting me to such wonderful parties every time, miss.”

Rose smiled with an elegant air befitting her mysterious persona and expressed her gratitude.

It had been two years since she started her spiritual research business under the alias Olga Blavatsky.

Countess Chester had played a major role in establishing her as the premier spiritualist in Romberton, inviting Olga to every party and introducing her to the city’s elite.

Anyone in Romberton’s social circle who hadn’t attended her show probably didn’t exist.

“It’s a shame Mr. Huckerd isn’t here, but as expected, the ‘real’ spiritualist can perform the séance alone.”

That blasted Mr. Huckerd.

Rose silently wished he would just disappear from her life.

A slave to his own lower half, both his real and fake names annoyed her.

She struggled to suppress the urge to grimace and managed a smile.

“There’s no trick in my spiritualism.”

Well, it was a little white lie—but it was true.

Though tables might shake, candles extinguish, and chandeliers move, there were no assistants or mechanical tricks involved. Mythos like Rose Taylor could do it with real magic.

Ordinary people who didn’t believe in magic steadfastly regarded her show as genuine spiritualism.

It was puzzling to her how Logos people didn’t believe in magic but believed in spiritualism.

After a few more polite words with the Countess and greetings exchanged with familiar socialites, time flew by.

Rose usually left around this time to avoid the hassle, but tonight she picked up a fresh glass.

She had a task she had to accomplish, which might be better aided with more alcohol.

Taking a sip, she quickly scanned the crowd for one man.

Thanks to his tall stature, she expected to spot him easily, but he was nowhere to be seen. She grew anxious.

‘Today is the last Countess Chester party before closing the office.’

Of course, the Countess would host another party next month. The problem was that the spiritual office would officially close in three days.

So today was the only day to meet that man.

Jack Dillon.

If it was him, who she had bumped into about two weeks ago, she thought he wouldn’t refuse her offer.

Rose finally spotted him alone on the terrace.

She emptied the remaining champagne in her mouth and took a new glass, inhaling deeply before approaching him.

Strikingly handsome, yet a hard-headed skeptic who didn’t believe in spiritualism or psychic powers.

That was Jack Dillon’s first impression.

He compulsively attended Countess Chester’s parties, but as Rose’s first impression suggested, he always reluctantly watched the séance and psychic demonstrations, sipping whiskey alone.

Lately, he barely even participated, simply observing from a distance.

‘Why does he keep coming to the Countess’s parties if he’s like that…?’

People like that usually weren’t worth talking to; they neither promoted her office nor became potential clients.

But today was different. She absolutely had to spend the night with this man.

she needed to discard the sacrificial condition of being a virgin for good.

But finding a harmless man who could have deep intimate relations without grudges was rare. No, it was like finding a needle in a haystack.

‘I didn’t realize finding a partner would be this difficult.’

She had broken up with her fiancé Arthur Granfield, so sleeping with him was out of the question, and buying a prostitute of uncertain health posed great risks.

You can’t just sleep with anyone to save the world.

It was a costly gamble.

Naturally, she chose the option that would cause her the least regret.

And so the final choice for her first night partner was this man.

She had watched him for nearly a year.

Though they hadn’t spoken much, she knew what kind of person he was.

‘Every time I saw him, he was with a different woman. He’s probably the type who doesn’t turn people away.’

He was kind to women, always changing partners, but the relationships weren’t messy or sordid.

More like business partners than lovers.

Experienced with women, but not to a disgusting degree; polite and unlikely to hold grudges, and astonishingly handsome.

Dark golden brown hair, calm and steady as a gentle breeze, blue eyes the color of a winter sky, a straight nose that suggested he wouldn’t compromise, masculine jawline, tall height, and broad shoulders…

A man who seemed like an open door with all these dreamlike qualities.

There was no better candidate nearby to take her virginity.

Rose carefully approached and summoned her courage to speak.

“Um, Mr. Jack Dillon?”